


Flying Without Wings

by anotherfanthing



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfanthing/pseuds/anotherfanthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gruesome death of four men leave New Scotland Yard clueless and helpless. Sherlock of course picks up the case and decides to investigate. Taking him out of his normal and throwing him into a world he thought he never wanted to enter, the investigation will not only bring the killer to light, but other things no one ever thought Sherlock Holmes to be interested in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work has not been proof read for lack of a beta reader. Any feedback you can give me will be worth more then you could possibly know. I do hope you enjoy!

The small white wings seemed to beat at a 100 paces a minute. He couldn't help but to stare through the window as the birds fluttered around their cages, almost in a panic, but everything in the store was as dark as the night sky around him. Walking on with a smile, he wondered what it would be like to fly himself, with wings of feathers through the sky free. Usually the streets were crawling with people but with recent events, everyone was hiding inside their houses from a cruel fate that could be their own. But Sherlock didn't fear the man hunting London's streets for his next victim, in fact he had spent the last four hours searching for the very man who had beheaded and defiled the bodies of all those men recently. New Scotland Yard was scrambling for any piece of information they could get but Sherlock had already figured out most of what one needed to go on to find such a man, and it was a man, late twenties to early thirties who is insecure in his own sexual identity, middle class and probably still lives with his mother. Charming, with attractive aspects to him to pick up the caliber of men he had. Well educated and unemployed, he would have an air of debonair that would most likely attract anyone. Sherlock had seen a few middle aged men walk past him on the street shuffling home in panic, but none of them him. Why would the killer scurry around like he was afraid when he is the one to be afraid of? He wouldn't, and if anything he would want people to believe he wasn't afraid so they wouldn't be. Sherlock smiled and kept on walking back towards baker st. John would be cross that he went out alone with a psychopath running about, but John seemed to crawl under Sherlock's skin lately and Sherlock wanted to spend as little time around him right now as possible. 

Sherlock looked around once more before opening the door and running up the stairs. John sat at the top of the stairs to Sherlock's dismay, he hoped he would be sleeping by now, with a very red face. "Where the bloody hell have you been, Sherlock?" came out of his mouth in more of a scream then Sherlock thinks he anticipated. Getting up really fast, Sherlock tried to run past him and into the flat, but John stood there like a wall with his stern face and red hue. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock didn't bother to answer and pushed his way past the shorter man and into the flat to discard his coat and scarf. "Dammit Sherlock, I'm. It joking! What were you doing out there alone? It for one is not safe considering the new evidence that recently came to light." Sherlock's head perked but John just went on, "which you would know about if you answered your bloody phone! I've been calling you for the past two hours, I was in my right mind to all Lestrade and tell him you've gone missing." Again Sherlock rolled his eyes and sank into his favorite chair kicking off his shoes. With a hand gesture, he wanted John to go on, but the man just stood there like stone with his arms crossed and that oh so stern look. Sherlock wanted to scream at John, to tell him to stop it and to get over himself, but Sherlock knew John was just looking out for him and Sherlock couldn't fault him for that. Placing his hand against his forehead and the other arm on the arm of the chair he sighed and began to prepare his words.

He wasn't sure exactly what to say to ease John's mind, but he figured he should start with his reasoning. "John, if I were to be seen walking around with another, what chance do I have of coming face to face with this killer and catching him? It would be stupid to have you with me for the simple fact that the killer is partial to finding men alone and on their way home from either a bar or a club. Now please do tell me this evidence that has been uncovered." He finished with another sigh and dropped his hand from his face to look up at his infuriating friend. John didn't look any happier then before but he seemed to be sated enough that his crossed arms dropped to his side and his body dropped into his favorite chair. Sherlock watched him for a few minutes longer till he couldn't stand to look anymore before focusing his attention on something else. This game he seemed to play with himself had become tedious and Sherlock almost hated himself for it. John is Sherlock's best friend, his only friend, the one he trusts the most and it was painful to feel the things he did when he looked at John. The anger always came first, either the sound of his voice, the smell of his soap or even the footsteps in the morning would cause the anger to well up in the pit of his stomach before it became despair. He wished he could explain these feelings.

"Why couldn't you just answer your bloody phone Sherlock. The recent autopsy revealed some very disturbing things and I was scared for you." The look in his eyes was painful, so painful Sherlock had to look away. "The sick bastard who did this kept the last boy for two weeks, starving him and raping him before he finally killed him, then there is evidence that even after death the killer raped the body some more." Sherlock shivered at the thought, but his mind only started working faster. In order to transfer both a living and dead body, the killer would need a car, and due to the facts already known, it would either be an expensive, showy car or a more modern and common model in pristine condition. He may even have been hospitalized for something traumatic in his childhood. Necrophilia though, that was something Sherlock already knew despite the fact that Molly had missed the dried semen on the last two bodies. His thoughts were interrupted with John's cross voice again, "Sherlock are you even listening to me? This sicko is out there and hunting for his next victim and you want to go throw yourself back out there don't you?" Sherlock looked up, this time happy to see those sad eyes.

Sherlock quickly stood and walked over to John, sticking a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. Sherlock planned to do exactly what John didn't want him to do, but this was the only way. "John, it is silly to continue to worry." He wanted nothing more to retreat into his mind palace to find something new, something he missed, but there was nothing. This killer was smart and let practically no evidence. "I trust Molly is running the DNA for any criminal match, I will write her an email to cross check it against hospital records too if possible." Walking over to his violin, he picked it up and nestled it between his chin and shoulder, picking up the bow next to play a harsh sad melody that was his internal struggle. He only stopped once to take off John's shoes and throw a blanket over him before he resumed. Once the sun came up, Sherlock called it quits and put his bow away gently, gliding to his room on tired legs to fall face first in the bed and sleep.

Sherlock woke to the smell of bacon wafting in through his cracked door. Groaning and covering his head with a pillow, he tried to force himself back to sleep as his stomach grumbled in defiance. Throwing himself out of bed, he stripped himself of yesterday's clothes and wrapped a sheet around his naked body before making his way into the kitchen. Sherlock's actions went unnoticed so he plopped himself down into a chair and cleared his throat, but he received no answer, instead a cup of hot tea was placed in front of him by a smiling John. The smile he gave back was real, no anger or dismay rising in his stomach for once, just the soft warm happiness like it used to be. He was slightly saddened when John made no comment on his sheet, but that dissipated as soon as a plate of hot eggs, bacon and toast was laid before him and John sat across to tuck into his own breakfast.

Sherlock watched as John left for work like any other ordinary day, but today would be extraordinary if Sherlock had any insight. Showered and dressed, Sherlock immediately took off for Saint Bart's to see Molly about her findings. Findings, that to Sherlock were stupid and available to him since the first victim. The cab ride was slow and tedious for Sherlock, especially since the driver took it upon himself to breath through his mouth the whole time. Walking to the morgue was the easier part, no one around to stare or say stupid things to him, except for the cameras. Sherlock smiled as he looked up to one, hoping his dear brother was watching. After all, Mycroft must have figured out what he was up to by now, and how dangerous it was. Too dangerous, Sherlock thought for once.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd, for I have no willing beta. Please leave any kind of feedback that you see fit, I always want to hear what readers think. Enjoy!

Sherlock stood around next to Lestrade and Molly as she nervously spit out all the new facts that she had found and what she thought they meant. With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock quickly took his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to John before slipping it back into his jacket pocket and pretending to listen. It was useless, he might as well just start talking, but as John had made it so plainly clear that it was rude to interupt someone while they spoke, Sherlock pursed his lips together and shifted his weight. "The erosion of the stomach lining and muscle is also sure proof that the victim had been starved for a long period of time. I... when I checked again for DNA evidence in the... uh... victim's... rectum, I noticed bruising that happened post mortum. And... and tearing." Molly finished up with a loud gulp before looking over the two men on the other side of the table. "I... never noticed it before because I didn't think to look for it." Sherlock snorted loudly, earning himself a cross look from Lestrade. Molly pursed her lips, staring hard at Lestrade. Again, Sherlock rolled his eyes, but this time he stepped forward, looking over the body. "Oh, and I didn't find DNA again, but I couldn't identify the body so I did as you suggested and I ran all the previous victims through all data banks, all of them had been hospitalized, but for what I do not know. Sealed records..."

"They were hospitalized as children, or teenagers. Either way, we will never see what for. I thought maybe he would leave DNA this time, but he has yet to lose himself in the game. Pity." Sherlock meant it too, that meant he had to continue with his nightly rounds by himself, hoping to be picked up to find the killer. A quick scan of the body showed nothing new, no bruises or marks to tell Sherlock anything at all. So meticulous. With a sigh, he stepped away and burst through the doors without saying another word. Pulling out his phone again, he sent another text to John before silencing it and sticking it back into his pocket. There were at least 10 nightclubs in the area where all the bodies had been found, and that meant there were 10 places Sherlock didn't want to be but had to be tonight. Taking John wasn't an option since the killer most likely picked up men who were alone, and looking for company. Sherlock scowled when he thought he would actually have to pretend to be interested in others, too tedious. Hailing down a cab, he jumped in quickly and asked to be dropped off at Baker street. If one was to play the part, one must dress for the part.

Sherlock ran in the door and up the stairs to be stopped by two angry looking eyes. Two very angry eyes, staring up from a chair that had been set up in front of the floor. "Lestrade called, what are you up to Sherlock?" He didn't move, not an inch. John's hands were folded neatly in his crossed lap, with his back as straight as if it was a metal rod. Sherlock rolled his eyes and walking into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He didn't have time to argue with John, he needed to get to the target area, and within the next two hours. Throwing off his jacket, Sherlock quickly made his hands busy with his buttons as he scanned his memory for any clothes in his room that wouldn't be a suit. Bingo, dresser, third and fifth drawer; a polo shirt and a pair of jeans. Quickly discarding the shirt, he made quick work of his pants, leaving them on the floor when his door was thrown open. "Jesus Sherlock, you do not get to ignore me this time." Sherlock looked up quickly, not bothering to cover himself, he stood as still as stone and stared down the intruder in his bedroom. "Well get dressed, Sherlock! Hurry up, then we need to talk about whatever you are doing!" Smiling to himself, Sherlock watched John's eyes scan his body more then once before he made a hasty exit and slammed the door shut. 

Sherlock made his dressing quick, mussing up his hair a bit and leaving his shirt un-tucked, despite being uncomfortable. Stepping out, he saw John fixing tea for the both of them. "Well John, what is it? I have work to do." He sat himself down, ignoring the strange looks he received from John. Making the list of things John would mention before he had actually gotten to the issue that made him storm into Sherlock's room, Sherlock's clothes, Sherlock's hair, something in the fridge, the case, what Sherlock planned to do tonight. All things to tedious. John, oh John. "This is a disguise, is this not what the kids do today, whatever is in the fridge I will clean it out when I get back. As for the case, it has proven to be more of a game with no new evidence I had not found on the first victim and tonight I am on the hunt." John huffed, his face turning red. Sherlock started speaking before John had a chance. "No you cannot come with me, the killer only picks up young men who are alone and searching for someone to take home. No you cannot follow me, anyone with a brain would realize with your staring that you had followed me and planned to watch me." Getting up, he walked past John and to the door, opening it and looking back. "I'm sorry, but if you are so worried about my well being, there is another way to watch me without being in eyesight." 

Sherlock patted his pockets to make sure his phone was there and his wallet before stepping through and shutting the door behind him. He bolted down the stairs and out the door, hailing a cab and barking out the street address to receive a suspicious eye from the cabbie. Paying it no mind, he quickly slipped into his mind palace for solitude, going over all the facts once again before smiling in victory. Sherlock paid the cabbie and slipped out, taking in all of his surroundings as he stepped up to the door of the infamous gay club all the young men had been taken from. A false smile upon his lips, got him safely to the bar where he ordered the first alcohol to come to mind and took a seat in the middle of the bar. Better to be seen, he thought. The mirror behind the bar gave Sherlock the advantage of seeing if and when anyone came his way, but the harsh relization that he had to act sad and try to attract attention made his back stiffen and a scowl to come to his face. Perfect, he thought. Letting his back relax, Sherlock kept the scowl and tried to make his eyes look as sad as possible. An easy target, he thought as he smiled to himself. The first drink left as a second one was replaced, and Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket. 

Through the mirror, Sherlock had found two suspects who fit the profile but something didn't quite fit with either of them. The man to the left sat alone in a booth, watching the crowd as he sipped on his beer. The killer would be smart enough to drink soda or water for instances of driving, one never knew when they could be pulled over by a policeman. After all, two drunk people in a car will be arrested, where as, a sober driver and a drunk friend will be let go with no questions asked. The other man seemed too uncomfortable in his plaid shirt and too tight and faded jeans as another young man rubbed his thigh. Sherlock couldn't see if there was a strip of pale skin around his ring finger, but his clothes and the manners he has shown the young man, Sherlock could tell he was a family man, married to an unattentive wife. Taking another drink, he scanned the mirror again, two new men had stepped through recently and began making their way to the bar. Sherlock noted they were both too young to fit the profile he created for the killer. An audible sigh left his lips as he raised the glass and downed the contents. Leaving a few notes on the bar, he got up and made his way out into the cool night air. 

Four blocks later, Sherlock became bored with the black Mercedes that had passed him twice. His thoughts had turned sour and he picked up his pace to cover the 3 blocks it would take him to hit a main street and hail down a cab. That's exactly what he did once the car passed a third time, Mycroft would have pulled over by now and if it was the killer, Sherlock knew exactly how to draw him in. It's perfectly easy to pretend not to observe when one sees, so Sherlock pretended not to be alarmed by the car as he waited in the street and held up his hand at the taxi coming towards him. He crawled into the back, giving the cabbie his address as he positioned himself to look out the rear view mirror as the black car began to follow the cab. Pulling out his phone, he pulled up the text he ignored in the bar and smiled. John had figured it out, it only took him an hour but it did happen. Mycroft had his phone tracked recently, after a nasty incident with a camera and Sherlock's face, measured had to be taken so he could be rescued. Sherlock took the liberty to do some hacking and bookmark the site on John's computer and hide the pass codes in a notepad within his documents. Why there?, the text read. Looking up, the car was still following as the distance home grew shorter. Tapping out "soon" and pressing send, Sherlock tucked his phone into his pocket and positioned his head so he looked as if he was looking out the window; his eyes never left the car in the mirror. 

The car parked half a block down from where the cab stopped, and Sherlock got out of the cab, pretending not to notice and never looking at the car. He made his was inside, taking the stairs one at a time at a slightly slow pace. Maybe he would play his violin tonight, or maybe he would examine toe nail clippings again. No, too dull. He opened the door to the flat and slipped inside, still thinking of how he would occupy the long night ahead of him when he paused. John sat upon the couch with a woman, both giggling. Shutting the door audibly, Sherlock quickened his step to reach his room and again, closed the door audibly. He was in no mood for company tonight, and the confines of his room was not enough to keep him occupied. Pajamas then, he decided quickly as he discarded his clothes on the floor and pulled a set out of the second drawer and a dressing gown from the closet. He quickly changed and decided he would play violin in his room, with a window open. The window the black car could see into. Stepping back out, he quickly walked to the corner that held his violin and collected it when the worst thing that could have happened, happened. 

"Sherlock, this is Jennifer. Jennifer, this is my flatmate Sherlock." He turned to see John smiling, and the slightly too old bottle blonde was still slightly giggling. Sherlock put on his best fake smile and nodded. Making his way back to his bedroom when he was once again interrupted with the sound of John's voice. "How was your stake out tonight?" And then she giggled. Sighing, Sherlock turned once more and cleared his throat. He walked over to his chair, sitting gingerly and placing his violin and bow in his lap. John shifted to pay more attention to him and the woman, both by body language and the roll of her eyes told Sherlock she couldn't care. He bit his tongue but decided that a few things would sate John and get this awful experience over with quickly. 

"Well John, I wouldn't want to keep you long so let's say that things are inconclusive and the puzzle continues. Goodnight." Sherlock got up quickly and made his way to his room, closing the door behind him as he opened the curtain and saw that the car was still there. Sherlock sent a quick text to John about leaving the living room untouched, a quick text to Lestrade about finding nothing tonight, and another text to Molly asking her to re-examine the body for long term consensual sex before he placed his phone on vibrate and put it on the bedside table. Positioning himself near the window to be seen, he lifted the violin to his chin, readied the bow, and started a soft, bewitching melody. After a while, he began to sway to the music, forgetting the black car still sat there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not gotten much feedback, but thank you to all who are reading and giving me Kudos. A special thanks to the person who commented, it made me extremely happy. Thank you all, you are wonderful.

Three hours had come and gone as Sherlock's tunes had changed with his moods. He never knew if anyone had realized it, but he picked his room because everything in 221B can be heard, except for John's room. Sherlock did not wish to hear what happened behind the confines of John's door, but he did wish to hear what happened in the kitchen, living room, bathroom and the hallways. Tonight was different, he began to wish he couldn't hear everything as John failed at conversing with the vile woman sitting on the couch with him. Poor John tried to tell her about his life, the things he liked, even cases, but nothing seemed to bring her to words. Eventually, the silence became awkward till the telltale noises of lips smacking loudly could be heard. It's not like John to one off, Sherlock thought to himself, knowing the woman would never be seen again. Her body language screamed all the signs that Sherlock read so clearly. His melody changed then, accelerating and becoming more aggressive. Lost in himself again, Sherlock didn't know the two had moved to the hallway till a loud horribly faked moan ceased all movement in Sherlock's body. 

Taking a minute to get over himself and the audacity, Sherlock lifted the violin again to play an audacious clash of many of his favorite tunes. Even he was slightly affronted by the way it sounded and happily stopped once the two had made it to John's bedroom. Placing his violin down gently, he grabbed his phone to see no one had bothered to respond to his texts. Slipping it into his pocket, he stepped out into the living room to make himself a cup of tea. Grabbing his laptop from the living room, he sat down and turned it on as he awaited the kettle to boil. With no new emails, Sherlock decided to read over the last few entries John had put on his blog. Halfway through the first, where John was talking about how brilliant Sherlock was, the kettle started to scream and Sherlock jumped up to quickly turn the stove off an pour his water. Switching seats so he could watch for anyone who could possibly come in, Sherlock continued to read with interest and a slight puff to his chest at all the praising words before his eyes. 

Two hours later, and Sherlock had read more entries than he had wanted to. Shutting his laptop, he sat up straight as the woman from before came walking in through the door on tip toes to retrieve her purse. By the look on her face, she wasn't pleased to see Sherlock sitting there and that brought a smile to his lips. "Making a hasty retreat I see, that must mean John is asleep. You are treading too lightly to want anyone in this building to know you are leaving so you didn't leave your number and you don't plan on seeing him again." Lifting his tea, he sipped it before setting it back down and watching the woman scowl as she collected her things and left. He watched her and listened for the soft clicking of the door at the bottom of the stairs before opening his laptop again. This was opportune time to start his research, finding himself ignorant of simple facts he should know in order to thoroughly investigate, he started with a simple google search. How to's and proper etiquette where the first things he crossed off his list. Minimizing the window, Sherlock went to the couch and laid back, losing himself within his mind.

All the victims were male, late twenties to mid thirties, never older then thirty five and never younger then twenty six. All were athletes in high school and/or college, all seemingly straight. They all have dark hair and light eyes, between five eleven and six two. They dressed impeccably and wore expensive colognes. Bodies are being found months apart, and each one reveal nothing new. Four bodies, four very meticulously hunted bodies. Things didn't add up though. Each victim had been seen in public up until one day before their death so the starving is something they are doing willingly, but why and for whom? If Molly can find out if they had been participating in consensual sex with the killer then another lead is opened, but that thought made Sherlock's stomach churn. Delete, he didn't want to think about how far into this investigation he may have to go now. Back to the time period, bodies are found a month to a month and a half apart. The chance of these men being closeted gays shot up, and the killer being almost a genius shoots up too. The time period means that the killer is gaining their trust in a relationship before sexual adventures are taken and on the final night it is taken too far? Not enough facts yet. But definitely closeted gays he had gained the trust of. Already know his type, a lot like John.  
John.  
Shaking his head, Sherlock went on with his thoughts. He gains control then abuses until he gets off. There is never any bruising around the neck, but the victim is always exsanguinated. Most likely, something both consent too until the grip becomes too tight. Sherlock shivers but continues anyway. And dry, the poor soul. From research done, the proper lubrication will leave no rips and tears, but bruises are only come by if it's too rough too early. Maybe he used a little then it dried up and he didn't bother to be considerate. That could be when it all goes downhill and he decides to kill them. Most serial killers take a grace period of an undetermined amount of time before they look for their next victim. Starting the investigation too early maybe? Maybe it's just me.   
Sherlock  
Never an athlete though toned body does help. Tighter clothes, one can always extend the wardrobe a bit. V necks and... eww, no yoga pants. Maybe a trim and a leather jacket, people seem to find that attractive. Research on gay styles might do one good. Seeing but not observing, good one. This should be known, there is really no file in here on gay man styles or patterns seen... maybe deleted. Should take a walk today, go to the mall. Dull. Just ask Mycroft. No don't do that. 

Sherlock

Opening his eyes, Sherlock saw John standing above him with an amused smile on his face. The light seeping in through the windows showed it to be around 7 am. John was getting up and getting ready for work. Sherlock sniffed the air and found John had already showered, made tea and had breakfast ready. Sherlock stood quickly and made his way to the kitchen. He already knew what was coming from the questioning look on John's face, but he knew he would have to tell him eventually, but was breakfast really the right time? Sitting down, he sipped the already warm tea and began to nibble on the bacon that sat next to the half cooked scrambled eggs. So he's slightly upset, not used to this treatment, how does one forget that? 

John sat down across from him, sipping probably his second cup of tea. "Sorry about last night, thought you would be out till the crack of dawn." He cleared his throat and decided to go on. "Nice girl, don't know where she went. Didn't leave a number." He sighed, Sherlock heard the soft disappointment. "So, why did you go there last night? I know it has been decided that the victims have been raped, but why not think it's a woman? Probably because they wouldn't think of it huh?" John sat his tea down and straightened his back. His clothes said he wasn't ready for the day, but accepted that it was happening. Sherlock wouldn't tell him now. Maybe he would delete it. Placing the bacon down and swallowing the tiny bit on his tongue, Sherlock took a deep breath before he started. 

"Four bodies. Ian Fornell was thirty one, short ear length dark brown hair and light blue eyes. He stood five foot eleven and a half inches tall and was a rugby player in uni and mastered in English literature. Didn't have a girlfriend but a lot of close friends, most of them girls. Closeted gay. Percy Dunlap was twenty eight and had an unfortunate name. He wore his black hair shaved but always with visible dark fuzz, dark blue eyes and six foot. He played football in uni, mastering in dramatic arts and actively dated many women, most at the same time. Closeted gay, or just had a kink only men would fulfill. David Smith was thirty four, wore his hair in an almost mullet thing, but chocolate brown and blue eyes. Six one and plays on his company's tennis team. Actively worked out and mastered in some business area. Not a serial dater, but a closeted bisexual. He was seen with both men and women, but it's been noted that a couple of his close friends knew and kept it hush hush." Finally taking a breath, he didn't give notice before he started again. "And finally, we have Christian Davidson at twenty six. Long brown hair and bright blue eyes, or at least they used to be. Still in uni but plays football and is mastering in medieval art. More women boast about him then they do celebrities. Dildo's found under his bed with his dna and fingerprints all over them. Closeted gay or just a kink, we will never know. I shall not be making a comment about it being women because of the lubricant found on the bodies can only be found on specific condoms."

Sherlock picked up the bacon and took another small bite before lifting his fork and shoving some of the eggs into his mouth. He chewed slightly fast and swallowed it all down quickly. John looked slightly confused and Sherlock couldn't help but to smile at that. He felt the need to explain his presence at the bar, or the fact that he would be going back to explore more. Sipping his tea, he politely waited for John to catch up, but instead he got up and placed his cup in the sink. Sherlock watched John as he slowly moved into living room. "But don't you want to know more?" Sherlock watched John pause out of the corner of his eye and turn slightly. "I've come to the conclusion that the torture had been consensual for a period of time due to all of them being closeted or it being just a kink. In order to get these men into the position they were in, one must first gain their trust then their affection and that takes time. The time between the bodies being found are conclusive to the killer planning it all out and how does one do that best? Meet them at a bar? Exchange numbers and start seeing each other? To find the killer, you must find the hunting grounds. There is exactly one gay bar within a ten mile radius of the spot where the bodies have been found. Last night was fruitless, but more data can be found before expanding the search."

John came back to the table and sat down, this time in a chair closer to Sherlock. Now John's mind was on the case and not the girl, this is the John Sherlock needed right now. "How are you going to find him then Sherlock? Prance around a gay bar until you have an idea of who he is? No one knows what this man looks like, do you expect to just know him like you did with the cabbie who tried to kill you?" John's voice was angry, but Sherlock couldn't of cared less. John's anger was being misplaced and Sherlock would ignore it for now. "You've already profiled the killer, but there are no clues to go on other then age and assumptions made off of things you've been reading off the internet." Sherlock saw how John's eyes flicked quickly to Sherlock's laptop and back. So he had been going through the history, he would have to change the password. "If you are thinking what I think you are planning, don't do it. Finding out may not be worth it." With that, John abruptly stood and stepped away from the table leaving Sherlock confused. 

Cocking his head to the side, he tried to translate what John meant, but his mind kept going blank. Had he figured out that Sherlock was going undercover as a gay man to be bait for a killer he planned to reign in and have Lestrade arrest. "John, what do you mean?" Silence then rustling of the paper. Sherlock stood quickly, whipping around. "It's obvious you went through my computer, so you know I have been doing research on gay sex. I thought one going undercover as a gay man should know a bit about it if asked. I have tried to contemplate what you meant by the 'advice' you gave me and I do not see a logical reason to have given it to me. What do you mean?" Sherlock stepped up to John, looming over him and looking down at him in confusion. When John only looked up at him and shook his head, Sherlock huffed and started to pace. "What is it that I'm missing here, I shall not be putting myself in any more danger then I usually do and I already know what car the killer drives since the car that followed me from the club last night was not one of Mycroft’s. Once I identify the car, I call Lestrade and he moves in legally and I get out of there. Not hard. What is it that I shall be risking John?!" Sherlock had started to shout, never realizing it until he had finished. Shaking his head, he threw himself into his favorite chair and stared down the man across from him. Ahhh, there it is. “So you believe that his investigation will have to include, shall we say, a personal touch?” Sherlock laughed then, placing his hands together on his lap. “You believe if I follow these leads, I shall eventually find the killer and be in a position the other men were in. How interesting that you care so much for my modesty when you care very little for your own.” Standing up, Sherlock walked slowly to his room, shutting the door behind him and dressing for the afternoon. Shopping, he decided, was in order.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again. Thanks again. I still don't have any friends so no beta again. I hope you enjoy.

Shopping became more annoying and frustrating then Sherlock had thought within fifteen minutes of walking through the front door. The young woman behind the counter ignored him while another shopper went through the clearance rack of last year’s styles. The young man in the back by the dressing rooms was too busy looking Sherlock up and down to notice the woman behind him trying to get his attention. Shaking his head, he turned around and exited as fast as he came in, pulling out his phone. Typing away a quick message to his brother, he tucked his phone away and made his way across the street to the tiny coffee shop to wait. Since he knew he would be here for a while, he ordered a tea and watched life go on before his eyes. A married man and his young mistress walked by, being tailed by… not the wife but someone who knows him and the wife very well. Maybe a neighbor. A young man on a skateboard who cannot hear anything that is going on around him. Dull. Woman and her children… no the babysitter of siblings, window shopping. Boring. Then Sherlock noticed the black car from the other night park just out of his line of sight. No one got out. Interesting. Sherlock called the waitress over and ordered another cup of tea, picking up the paper on the table and pretending to read. 

A half hour later, Molly finally showed up, a smile on her face. The black car never moved and no one ever got out. Sherlock stood and smiled, placing a couple notes under his saucer. “Molly, this is an odd request but I do not either like shopping or any of the clothes that reside in the stores within this area, therefore I need you to come with me and pick out clothes. With your obvious infatuation with me, you shall have a biased opinion and will only have me dressed impeccably since I shall be dressing down. Shall we?” Pointing across the street to the store, Sherlock attempted a friendly smile as Molly began to blush and search for something to say. Instead she just nodded and lead the way across the street to the store. Picking up his pace, Sherlock got ahead of Molly and opened the door for her. “I only wish to have a few pairs of pants and a few shirts. Dark in color. Anything else I can borrow from John.” Looking down, he saw her nod as her eyes scanned the area. 

“It’s a bit pricey here Sherlock, are you sure this is the place you want to buy clothes you don’t want to wear?” Molly never looked up at him as her eyes continues to look through the different years of styles and the racks that had been organized by the type of material used for the clothes. “Well, I guess we will start with pants. I hope you don’t mind trying things on.” She started walking then, not waiting for his reply. It’s not like he would answer any of her questions anyway if she were to ask them. Turning around to ask Sherlock specifically how he wanted to look, she found he was not there. Scanning the room quickly, Molly saw him sitting in a corner, staring out the window. 

With a better view of the car, Sherlock saw that the person inside had either gotten out or was hiding down when he saw Sherlock come near the window. Sherlock scanned the street looking for anyone who could be watching him and scanned the faces as he did so. Tucking them away, he averted his eyes to a corner where the car would still be within his vision; occasionally looking over to see what Molly was up to. People walked by in large crowds, some making eye contact, the rest not noticing him. A small smile fell upon his lips when suddenly a pile of clothes is dropped into his lap. Looking up, he saw nervous little Molly trying to smile. “Yes?”  
“Go try them on and you can pick what you like.” She tried to smile again, but it just looked like she was pursing her lips. Sherlock sighed before looking out the window. What would a person, such as the one he was trying to portray do in such a situation, he thought. Closing his eyes, he slipped into his mind to pull up everything he remembered of seeing men in stores and how they acted. Men shopping alone never tried on clothes, men shopping with women usually watch the women shop and try on clothes, but… ah yes. Getting up, Sherlock made his way towards the back where the boy from earlier sat staring down at his cell phone. The boy never looked up once he arrived and clearing his throat did not get the boy’s attention either. Molly then walked up and placed her hands gently on the small counter. “Excuse me, he shall need a room for a bit. May we have a key?” 

The boy finally looked up then, slipping his phone into his pocket. He had the audacity to look Sherlock up and down with a sly grin before looking over to Molly. “Of course, Ma’am. But it is company policy and you cannot go back there with him.” Picking up a key, he held it out for Sherlock to take. “Room 4 should be big enough, let me know if you have any problems.” Sherlock snatched the key and made his way to the door marked 4, unlocking it and slipping in. He did not wish to make a spectacle of himself, so he quickly organized the clothing by pants and shirts and then the one leather jacket. Slipping the first shirt in the pile on, and the first pair of pants, Sherlock quickly slipped out of the room and walked to Molly. 

She blushed lightly looking him up and down. So the pants must be as tight as they feel, he thought to himself. Looking over at the boy, he wore the same expression as Molly. “I shall need her to be closer to the room, I do not wish to take more than a couple steps out since you will not let me have her in the room with me.” The boy nodded and Sherlock turned, walking back to the small room, changing the shirt. Sherlock didn’t bother to completely close the door as he tried on the multiple shirts without changing the pants, but when it came time to change the pants, he closed the door and locked it behind him. 

After 30 minutes, the gruesome ordeal was over with and all the clothes Molly had picked out ended up bought. Waste of money, Sherlock thought to himself as he hauled the three bags into the back of a cab with Molly at his side. The black car had pulled out half a block down from the cab and started to follow, staying right behind the cab. Since Saint Bart’s was on the way to the flat, Sherlock asked Molly to share a cab so he could have her dropped off. She refused at first, but Sherlock put on his best smile and insisted, helping her inside then sliding in beside her. He did not wish to speak, but he didn’t have to since since Molly never let there be a moment of silence. Her incessant chattering ranged on all topics from the case, to people she worked with, to missing instruments at Bart’s and then back to the case and the unsettling facts about it. Sherlock nodded, but never made eye contact, watching the car follow them through the rear view mirror. Finally, when the cab pulled up to Bart's, Sherlock got out, holding the door open for Molly before giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek and sliding back in. He barked out his address, angry to see the car that was following them shoot by without even a glance from the driver and the cab lurched forward. 

Once the cab arrived outside his flat, Sherlock noted that the black car was parked half a block down. Bags in tow, Sherlock ran up the stairs to 221B and into the empty flat. A couple quick strides had him in his bedroom, where the bags were unceremoniously dumped onto his bed to sort and filter for his needs. After all, Sherlock had a good feeling about next week, and the swanky high class club he would be going to. Of course from the outside, this club looked like the usual one any uni student would go to for a quick drink and lots of fun, but on the inside, there were many secrets to be found behind the large black doors that no one without membership could get into. Thankfully, Mycroft was a member, not surprising, and added Sherlock to his membership. The small red plastic card came in today, nestled safely in the wallet he had just dumped on his dresser. The jeans had been laid out by color and shade, the shirts the same. The jacket he hung on the foot pole of the bed, neither disliked nor liked. An anomaly he prefered not to use, but one should stay in character should they not? Dread quickly filled Sherlock, forcing him to fall into the bed and bury his head in a pillow. He really didn’t want to do this, but John was not a good enough actor for this, he couldn’t play a convincing gay man. So sad Mycroft couldn't know his plan yet, too many people would be watching him then and crowds are noticed.

Tonight, the club was mainly for show and to see the physical facts of sex. Mycroft is too uptight and snooty to not be a part of a club like this, but all the better. There is a very, very small chance that the killer will have access to a club like this so Sherlock’s observing and lack of participation will go unseen by anyone who matters. Sherlock never understood why one did not just plainly state what they wanted from another, but since John is right and unfit for such a task, and Sherlock lacks the social graces he must observe in a controlled area to understand what is needed for the task at hand. Subtlety was an obvious one, of course, the lack of biological need on Sherlock’s part was a hinderance that a learned charm may overcome. Even the unobservant know when one is aroused by the other, and if Sherlock is right, the killer will know that Sherlock is feigning interest. Quickly pulling up his mental calendar, he calculated a date, one not so surprising. Five years and one-hundred twenty days since the last time he had felt any form of arousal, and though not a problem the remedy to the current problem will be uncomfortable. Another point where John would do better, his body will act to physical stimulation unlike Sherlock’s. He would need to train his brain to react to physical stimulation, probably over the next five days. Sherlock let out a distressed moan before burying his face farther into the pillow. One is supposed to react to visual stimulation too, and tonight would be the test for Sherlock to see how much he will have to visually stimulate the brain till it acted accordingly to the current need. A desire to talk to a stranger though, that was the most difficult part. Everyone was so dull. Always so uninterested in talking about important things and so easily insulted, though they are easy to insult, with their hopes and dreams and stupid ideas. It was so uninteresting. To mingle with them and… flirt with them… it almost made Sherlock’s stomach flip. Flirting, that was something else too that Sherlock would have to observe tonight since all he had really seen was John, Anderson, Donovan and Molly. Though John was not a poor example, Sherlock needed more uncontrolled subjects. Ones who would not be nervous every time Sherlock was around. If only Mycroft could be controlled, he would be perfect for this with his honeyed words and charm men and women seem to fall for whenever he uses it. Charm, that would have to be the token. 

Sherlock yawned, un-burying his face and kicking all the clothes onto the floor. He really didn’t want to do this, but Irene was indisposed and not a man, though that was debatable upon her attitude. No, most definitely a woman no matter what. If Lestrade was not too heartbroken over the woman he decided to marry, he would be perfect for this. If anything, Lestrade can at least pass as a closeted gay man. Why did it have to be this? He had gone so long without having to breach the subject of sex, and here it is again. More things he cannot do that torment him so. Maybe he would take John tonight, John may find himself some fun after the fiasco with… oh what was her name?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really like to thank BlueEyedNightwing, al_dena, h_lokidottir and the 7 guests who left Kudos for me. When I saw the hit counter was 462 I nearly screamed, thank you all so much and I do hope you are enjoying this story despite my horrible writing skills. Now I'm asking you lovely readers to help me out. I'm not running out of ideas, but I want to know what you guys would like to see. If anyone has ideas to throw into mine, please comment or send me a message, I'm open to all suggestions.

Sherlock

It was windy and bitter cold. There was snow covering the ground and lake in front of Sherlock, he ran through the snow barefoot looking for something, but what was he looking for? He ran and ran as the wind howled and the snow fell harder. There was nothing in sight but the ground and the lake, never coming closer as his bare feet pound into the ground, going as fast as his feet will carry them though they feel like they weigh a hundred pounds each. As he moved, his legs only got heavier and heavier. It became harder to breath as he fell, the snow starting to cover him as the howling wind threw more snow upon him. It became heavier and heavier until the wind was throwing him around but the weight on his chest never let up, never gave him a chance for a full gulp of air before it was knocked right out of his lungs again. The half gulp of air and having it just as quickly knocked back out of his lungs became tedious, so he let himself go limp as he was jostled about by the wind.

Sherlock, wake up.

Quickly sitting up and taking in the largest amount of air into his lungs as possible, Sherlock slowly let it out before repeating the process. Dreams, they are not real. Everything is okay. Taking a quick look around, he saw it had only been an hour since he had fallen asleep and John was standing at the end of the bed looking down with concern. Yawning, Sherlock quickly got up and retrieved the clothes from the floor to dump them back on the bed. “Tea, John?” Sherlock began to organize the clothes like he did earlier, but this time he matched them up and hung them as sets in the closet. He would be able to wear his normal clothes tonight. No disguise. Comfortable. He noticed John’s weary gaze out of his peripherals as he brought the black leather jacket through to hang it up by the door. He may remember to wear it once if it is there. When he turned back, he saw John quickly avert his gaze to the kettle and Sherlock quickly sank into a chair. He had two hours before the club opened, so three before he actually left. Enough to drink tea, divulge little to John to sate him or take him along. John made quick work of the tea once the kettle started to sing, fixing Sherlock his tea just how he liked it, before sitting it before him and settling himself in the chair opposite his friend. They stared at each other longer then necessary whilst drinking their tea, minds moving miles per minute. Sherlock deduced what John would say before John knew what he would say, so he decided to start without him. 

“You do know how I hate to repeat myself, so I will say this one more time and that will be the end of it. This killer is too cunning for the yard to catch on their own, and the only way to catch him is to be the bait. You cannot act, therefore you taking this mission is out of the question. I have weighed the dangers and find them to outweigh the dangers of this man on the street. I have a strong idea of what I’m doing, but more research will be needed. And that is where you come in John, I need to study you. Well, not you perse. I shall be doing research tonight and I wish you to accompany me.” Sherlock decided to stop there even though he had more to say. It would be easier for the both of them if he went slow and let John ask his questions in spurts of many instead of interrupting Sherlock to ask them sporadically. “If you have any questions so far, please ask, I do have more to say.”

John stared at Sherlock, almost in bewilderment, but he seemed more amused. He watched the shorter man bring his hand up to his face and rub his cheek before it dropped back down into his lap. “Are you sure you know what you are doing Sherlock? Talking about sex makes you uncomfortable, I doubt you will be comfortable giving the killer what he wants to make him believe you can be the next victim let alone find him though I have seen you do more amazing things then that.” John stopped, holding up his finger to signal he needed a moment to think some more. He took his grand old time doing it to, to Sherlock’s dismay. They both sipped their tea, but John kept his close to his mouth. “Sherlock,” he lowered his voice, almost as if he was dreading his next words, “what is it you need from me?” Sherlock watched him closely, his body language seemed to suggest he was nervous and his eyes told Sherlock he was scared. This was uncharted territory for the both of them, and for once Sherlock was relieved John was scared; because he was too. More than John would ever understand. Maybe even more than Sherlock himself understood.

He wasted no time answering John. Why should he, straight to the point. “Of course I am sure of what I am planning, John have you ever known for my plans to fail horribly?” Sherlock stood raising his hand to stop John before he started on every situation where Sherlock’s plan failed even the slightest. “Please John, sex does not make me uncomfortable. I have seen no reason to or had the slightest urge to have sex until this ten made me think about it and I find myself lacking in knowledge. Therefore, I want to study you in a almost sexual situation but not during intercourse itself. I need to understand flirting, body language cannot be the only tool one use right now and I need to study those who have actually done it so I myself can perform such trivialities and take a dangerous man off the streets.” He smiled for only a second. “and thank you John.” There would be more questions of course. Stupid ones too, but Sherlock paused to sip his tea as he looked at the man across from him like he was actually interested. But John was looking down. Specifically at his feet. Sherlock let out a loud sigh and let his head fall onto the hands he was not resting on the table. “My pause was for you to ask more questions before I continue, what is so interesting about your feet that you have not paid attention to me?”

John looked up, smiling. Perplexed by this, Sherlock started to get up when John put up a hand to stop him.”A ten, yeah? Who is she?” Paused, he craned his neck over to see a tiny grey mouse, smelling John’s shoe. Letting a small smile come to his lips, he slowly sat back down hoping not to disturb the rodent while John enjoyed it. He would kill it later, of course. “We should get a cat. This wouldn’t happen with one of those.” He looked up at Sherlock again, a smile that showed not only on his lips, but his eyes as well. “You still haven’t told me what you expect me to do though. Do you want to stalk me on a date and bug me or have you set up something much more extravagant than that?” The smile was still on John’s face, but not his eyes. Not anymore. “Most women won’t think anything of you trying to seduce them as soon as you meet them, but the women I date know me and I don’t do that right away. That one off you saw the other night wasn’t my intentions with her. I had planned on seeing her more, but she seems to have planned otherwise.” The smile had gone, replaced with pursed lips.

“Oh please John, I was speaking of the case.” Sherlock scowled. “I am sorry.” He looked down quickly, feeling slightly guilty about the whole situation. But he swallowed it down and cleared his throat. “I have borrowed my dear brother’s membership card to an exclusive club. I’m sure you already know what kind of club due to context. I plan to take you as my plus one, observe and while you either get one off with a stranger or go home, I shall try out your methods and observe others to find a method that works for me. And before you interrupt and ask why I need you when there is a place full of people, let me explain. Though I have not exactly studied your methods, I have seen you on enough dates to know you have two methods you use to attract women and I need to learn them. I would like you to accompany me once tonight and once tomorrow night using one method each night unless you prefer to get them both done in one go, truly up to you. You may also say no, but know that if that is the case then I am forced to stalk you on your dates and wire you without your knowledge. And only if it’s black.” Sherlock brought his hands up to position and awaited John’s reply. His tea cup empty. 

They both took a deep breath simultaneously, letting it out with a loud huff. “What on earth do you mean? Only if it’s black, if what’s black?” John cocked his head to the side, confused. Sherlock huffed again. “I hope you didn’t steal that card, and I’m not even sure I will be comfortable doing this.” He paused then, taking another breath. “But I will try. This is all too weird, Sherlock. I mean really? First a gay club, then new clothes, for christ’s sakes there is a leather jacket hanging on the coat rack over there! Now it’s sex clubs? You mine as well tell me what’s next.” He was rubbing his face again in annoyance, too overwhelmed with all the things running through his mind. Of course, there was no choice for John if he were to keep Sherlock safe. At least now he knew he could track Sherlock’s phone, that was one thing that made him slightly more comfortable. Maybe he should give the tall man across from him the pepper spray he kept in the closet. 

“The cat you wish to have, John. Do keep up.” Sherlock picked up the cup and brought it to his lips when he remembered the cup was empty. Gently placing it back down, he pushed it out of hands reach and entwined his own fingers on the table to rest. “Thank you, I suspected this would be an awkward situation for you and your uncomfortability is clear. Maybe you should take a shower and relax. And please do it soon, I plan to shower myself. The club opens in an hour and a half, we will leave in two hours time. I arranged a car to take us.” Sherlock quickly eyed John, and since he didn’t seem to have anything else to say, Sherlock quickly stood and retreated to his room. For some reason he felt the need to preen himself, it was odd he thought to himself quickly before stepping to his closet and looking for his nicest suit. Maybe he would even wear a tie.


End file.
